MIRAGE OF HEARTSTRINGS

A TOO QUIET AFTERNOON

The sun hung low, warm but gentle—the kind of afternoon Indraprastha rarely offered. Most of the palace slept in the hush between duties. Even the birds seemed lazy, their calls drifting only occasionally through the long corridors.

Duryodhana walked alone, a small folded palm-leaf clutched loosely in his hand.

Lakshman had scribbled another message earlier—just uneven lines and a sun drawn backwards—but it had made the boy’s eyes shine.

Duryodhana kept it until Lakshman fell asleep for his noon nap, then slipped out quietly, heading to the far edge of the palace grounds. There, behind the outer wall, stood the enormous dust-disposal chute the servants used. Hidden, rarely visited at this time of day.

It was the only place he could throw these leaf-messages away without anyone noticing.

Not because he hated them.

But because each one was a reminder of a life he no longer deserved.

He stopped before the chute.

The afternoon wind picked up, stirring the fringe of his angavastram.
Duryodhana let the palm-leaf drop inside.

It slid away with a soft whisper.

He closed his eyes briefly.

I shouldn’t have brought him here. He deserves a world untainted by me…

He exhaled and turned—
—only to freeze.

Someone stood at the edge of the stone path.

Someone who definitely was not supposed to be here.

Bhima

He hadn’t approached loudly—his steps surprisingly quiet. Maybe because he, too, had been wandering without aim. Maybe because this palace, though familiar, no longer belonged entirely to any one of them.

The sunlight caught in Bhima’s hair, making it look strangely soft, younger.
But his expression—stunned, unreadable—was not soft at all.

The air thickened immediately.

Too quiet.

Too still.

For a long breath, neither spoke.

Duryodhana’s mind clenched.
Why him? Why now, when I’m barely keeping myself steady?

He must not see anything.

He must not guess anything.

But he couldn’t force himself to turn away either.

Bhima’s thoughts twisted, slow and heavy.
He looks tired. Worse than tired. Almost… hollow.

Why does that make my chest feel like it’s cracking? It shouldn’t.

I shouldn’t—

He swallowed hard.

At last, he stepped forward—not aggressively, not gently. Just…....because standing still hurt too much.

"You’re far from the guest chambers, Duryodhana"

His voice came out lower, rougher than he intended.

Duryodhana’s jaw tightened.

"So are you"

The reply wasn’t sharp—but it wasn’t neutral either. Something fragile hid underneath it, like a bruise covered with silk.

Bhima nodded once.
"I was just walking"

"…As was I"

Their words felt like they were walking on thin glass.

The palm leaf.

Bhima’s eyes drifted, just for a heartbeat, toward the dust chute.
He noticed the faint corner of the palm leaf that hadn’t fully fallen through.

He didn’t ask.

He didn’t comment.

But he understood enough to feel something unpleasantly tender rise inside his chest.

And that scared him more than any battle ever had.

Duryodhana followed his gaze—and for a second, something unguarded flickered across his face.

Embarrassment?
Sadness?
A quiet ache?

Bhima forced himself to look away, giving Duryodhana back that small piece of dignity.

"Lakshman… enjoyed himself today"

Bhima said the words quietly, almost gently.

Duryodhana’s breath caught.
Just slightly.

"…He did"

His voice softened in a way that made the entire world feel too intimate.

Bhima felt his pulse thud once—hard, unwelcome.
Stop it. Stop thinking. You’ve accepted what you feel, but you cannot let it show. Not here. Not now.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was full.

Full of all the things neither man dared name.

The passing time blow past them as if telling them to move forward.

Duryodhana stepped sideways, as if to leave the space.

Bhima instinctively mirrored him.

The path was narrow. The afternoon sun slanted sharply, making their shadows long—almost touching before the men did.

Duryodhana hesitated.

Bhima did too.

Finally, Duryodhana moved past him, slow, controlled, holding himself rigidly away—yet the space between them was no more than a breath.

Bhima felt the warmth of him as he passed.

Not contact.

But enough to make his heart seize.

Duryodhana’s steps faltered for a single fraction of a moment, almost invisible—except Bhima saw it.
Because he could not look away.
A final glance.

At the end of the path, Duryodhana stopped and spoke without turning around.

"...........Please…...forget you saw me here"

Bhima’s jaw clenched.
"…I didn’t see anything"

Duryodhana exhaled once—relief and pain tangled together—then walked away.

Bhima stayed where he was long after the footsteps faded.

Hand trembling faintly.
Chest unbearably tight.

And for the first time in a long while, he whispered to himself—

"This….....is getting dangerous"

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